


Not That Girl

by MizushimaHikari



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crushes, F/M, Facebook, Tutoring, Unrequited Love, facebook ruins everything, i learned more about columbia than i wanted to know, irrational hate, some shade thrown, unwanted pictures, well no not really it just makes it harder to forget
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizushimaHikari/pseuds/MizushimaHikari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rude awakening via social media forces Eliza Schuyler to deal with her festering crush on a brilliant, egotistical upperclassman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not That Girl

Eliza Schuyler, a senior at Columbia University, curled up in her bed like a content kitten. She had just finished everything she had to do that evening, so she was on Facebook, absentmindedly scrolling through her Newsfeed. She saw that Theo Bartow, an old friend of hers who was a grad student at Princeton, had changed her relationship status to “In a Relationship with Aaron Burr”. 

Intrigued, Eliza went to Theo’s Timeline to investigate. To her delight, she found that Theo’s page was covered with pictures of her and her new boyfriend. She skimmed through the pictures, thrilled for Theo. 

She stopped on a cute photo of Theo and Aaron, clearly on a date at an ice cream parlor. The picture captured the couple sitting together on one side of the table; Theo was giggling, and Aaron looked perplexed, unaware that he had a dot of whipped cream on his nose. The photo’s caption said, “Photocreds to Aaron’s wonderful roommate Alex!” where “Alex” was a hyperlink. Curious, Eliza clicked the link. 

Eliza found herself staring at Alexander Hamilton’s profile, his profile picture an image of him standing in front of a waterfront, his arm around a girl. Before her mind could suggest that the picture was cute, Eliza scanned the image for flaws, the dark circles rimming his eyes, the blotches on his cheeks, and that one crooked tooth of hers. Finally, she noticed that the caption read, “Three years is a long time.” 

She wished she hadn’t clicked the link. Even though she was Facebook friends with Alex, she had not seen his profile in years, not after unfollowing him. 

Eliza had first met Alex her freshman year. She had been struggling with an English essay and decided to make an appointment on Tuesday with the writing center. That day, she went to the building, 310 Philosophy, uncertain of what to expect. Eliza sat in the waiting room alone for ten minutes until a lanky boy with a messy ponytail rushed in. He glanced around the room before turning to her. 

“I’m Alex Hamilton. You must be my 7:00.” He reached out to shake her hand. 

“Eliza Schuyler,” she said as she shook his hand firmly. 

“I had a meeting that ran late. Let’s get right to your paper,” said Alex as he motioned towards a small room. 

Once they were situated in the room, Alex asked, “Have you ever had a writing appointment before?” 

“No,” said Eliza, twirling a strand of her hair. 

“Alright, I’ll explain how we do things here,” he replied. “Usually, the consultants introduce themselves. Like I said, I’m Alex. I’m a sophomore and a philosophy major. I’m here every Tuesday from 7:00 to 10:00. Now, you introduce yourself and tell me about what you’re working on and what you want me to keep in mind as I read your paper.”

“My name is Eliza,” she began, “and I’m a freshman. I’m taking this English class, Love in Literature. My first assignment is to analyze the motif of relationships in The Great Gatsby. I’m not sure if what I’ve written so far would be enough.”

“Cool. Let me see your paper.” 

For the next hour, Alex pored over Eliza’s essay, pointing out structural flaws and questionable diction and praising her whenever her analysis was particularly insightful. By the end of her appointment, Eliza felt much better about the direction of her paper. Although he had been a bit arrogant, Alex had been a stellar consultant: informative and ingenious, capable of strengthening an essay’s overarching themes as well as crafting beautiful individual sentences. 

As Alex led her out of the room, he said, “Your paper’s good as is, and it’s got the potential to be something special, but I don’t agree with your thesis at all.” 

“Huh? Why not?” asked Eliza. 

“I don’t think this Gatsby guy’s fling with Daisy has anything to do with the destruction of the American dream. If anything, it bolsters the American dream concept. He doesn’t get the girl because he hesitated. If he loved this girl so much, why didn’t he just go get her?” Alex blurted. 

“Matters of the heart aren’t like that,” she said as she moved her hand towards his forearm. 

Alex swerved around and waved his arms erratically, just out of Eliza’s reach. “People shouldn’t wait when it comes to matters of the heart or anything else!”

“I think you and I will be forced to disagree. Good night,” Eliza said curtly as she exited Philosophy 310, passing by a short girl. 

As Eliza walked back to her dorm, she fiddled with her phone, looking up Alex Hamilton’s Facebook on a whim. His profile picture was, to be bluntly honest, shitty. His eyes were unfocused, as if he had been caught off guard by the camera, and he only displayed his top row of teeth in what must have been the world’s must awkward attempt at a smile. Eliza was trying to click back on her phone when her finger slipped and she accidentally sent Alex a friend request. Not even a minute later, he accepted it. 

“What a weirdo,” Eliza mumbled to herself as she entered her dorm. 

Eliza, despite herself, kept scheduling appointments at 7:00 on Tuesdays to discuss her essays with said creep. No matter how conceited and controversial Alex was in person or how hideous he looked on social media, she found herself respecting and admiring his wit. Every writing session with him inevitably and invariably led to impassioned arguments. 

“No offense, Eliza, but this book is shit. So this guy and girl are clearly into each other, but because of some antiquated social norm, the guy marries the girl’s sister? And the girl’s happy?!” scoffed Alex after one particular appointment. 

“The book’s about overcoming the restrictions of society and –”

“I know, I know. I read your essay, and it’s well-written. The book, on the other hand…” Alex trailed off, as if even he, one of the most verbose people on campus, couldn’t find suitable words to slam the novel. 

Eliza snorted. “I think the plot’s romantic. Don’t you think it’s beautiful to wait for your love?”

Alex shot her a look of utter condescension. “Like I’ve said, it’s better to go for it, societal norms be damned. You’ll never end up with a romantic partner if you wait for it. Speaking of which,” he said as he glanced at his phone, “I can’t let my 8:00 keep waiting.” 

“Alright. See you later,” said Eliza. She left the room, so annoyed yet so exhilarated by her exchange with Alex that she barely noticed another girl walk by. 

For Eliza, the days and weeks sped by until it was the night of Fall Formal. Eliza had originally planned not to go until her sister Angelica, a senior at Columbia, mentioned that Alex would be there. The week before, the Schuyler sisters had ravaged half of Bergdorf Goodman in search of the perfect dresses. Angelica had selected a dramatic strapless sunflower-yellow Oscar de la Renta gown, and Eliza ended up getting a white, cold-shoulder Prabal Gurung dress with delicate beading and a thigh-high slit. Eliza had felt like a pageant queen when she tried it on. 

Of course, now, at the dance, she felt very much like a wallflower. Unlike her sociable sister, who was at the center of the dance floor, Eliza was sitting in the corner with some friends, sipping a glass of grapefruit-basil spa water and avoiding the loud, atonal music emanating from the speakers. 

Eliza spied a gangly figure and a sloppy ponytail in her peripheral vision. Craning her head slightly, she saw Alex in an animated conversation with a group of his friends. She repeatedly walked to and from the refreshments to help herself to pretentious spa water, all the while discreetly stealing glances of him. 

Eliza became vaguely aware that she was happy just from seeing Alex. It slowly dawned on her that she was infatuated with him. Yes, that made sense. She searched the deep recesses of her heart for her newfound feelings and gradually summoned them to the surface. Perhaps she could follow his life philosophy and make a move tonight. 

While Eliza imagined methods of approaching Alex, Angelica swirled by. “You’re staring at Hamilton a lot,” Angelica teased. 

Eliza swore under her breath. Evidently, she wasn’t as subtle as she thought. “I think I’ve seen him at the writing center before,” she said in a measured tone. 

“He’s infamous for flirting with every girl he meets there,” Angelica said. “He’s a notorious womanizer, but rumor says that for once, he’s smitten with a freshman girl.” 

Eliza’s heart lurched involuntarily. 

“Oh, look,” Angelica continued, “There they are.”

Eliza looked up. There, practically ten feet away, was Alex talking to a much shorter girl, wearing an obnoxious neon pink dress that was shaped like a pastry. She recognized this girl – Maria Reynolds – from the writing center. Just as Eliza frequented the writing center at 7:00 on Tuesdays, Maria frequented it at 8:00 on Tuesdays. 

Eliza watched the two of them in abject horror, crushing her true thoughts with mean-spirited ones. It was easy with Maria – every good opinion Eliza once had about her morphed into something quite malicious. Eliza immediately began to see Maria as an unremarkable girl in an unflattering pastry-shaped gown who unrightfully acted as if the world were so obviously hers. It was much harder with Alex. She told herself that with his eyes bugged out and his arms moving about like a windmill, he looked like a deranged squirrel. 

It didn’t help. Eliza felt so nauseous that she left the venue for a breath of fresh air. Once she was outside, she walked back to her dorm, head raised high, gait smooth and brisk, even though she felt her insides fracture into fractions. 

After she returned and had changed into comfy pajamas, she went on Facebook for the express purpose of Facebook-stalking Maria Reynolds. She insisted to herself that Maria’s Facebook was as average as the girl herself. Eliza studied her profile, her disdain multiplying with every new bit of information she gleaned. (Seriously, who in their right mind plastered random generic French phrases in their “About” section and claimed they spoke “Franglais”?) Surely, surely, Alex would soon realize Maria was boring and would leave her. 

Still, Maria had lots of pictures of her and Alex, so Eliza unfollowed her. 

A week later, when Alex began posting pictures of him and Maria, Eliza unfollowed him too. For the rest of the semester, she began going to the writing center on Thursdays at 7:00. 

In sophomore year, Eliza heard they were officially dating. She knew that Alex was a philosophy major who specialized in political philosophy, and Maria was a pre-med student with a passion for literature and creative writing. As a result, Eliza elected to major in physics, at least until circumstances changed. 

And now, years later, Eliza was still a physics major, and she was on Facebook, staring at photo evidence that circumstances had not changed. She looked at the picture for twelve minutes, her eyes darting over to the comments and the 160 likes the picture had garnered. 

At once, everything instantly made sense. She had confused her feelings with the truth. Alex and Maria were a cute couple, and they were going to be together for a long, long time. She couldn’t deny it anymore. Alex had never loved her. 

The epiphany felt like picking off a scab prematurely – it didn’t seem like it would hurt, but the freshly opened wound wouldn’t stop bleeding. All of Eliza’s repressed emotions flowed out, overwhelming her. She began to cry. She wept and wept until she ran out of tears, and then she howled and punched the closest wall. 

Pain rippled through her fist, bringing Eliza back to reality. It was late, and she had class tomorrow. She turned off her laptop, set it to the side, and lay down on the left side of her queen size bed. 

She couldn’t sleep. The wide expanse of bed to her right kept mocking her solitude.

**Author's Note:**

> I suspect we’ve all found ourselves FB-stalking crushes, wondering why they like someone else and not us. 
> 
> Title is from Wicked. It seemed fitting. 
> 
> In case anyone is wondering, I based Angelica’s and Eliza’s dresses on the dresses Renee Elise Goldberry and Phillipa Soo wore to the Tonys. 
> 
> Hamilton’s profile pic is based on the middle picture of this wonderful amazing tumblr post I found. I imagined the left and right pictures as other pics Ham would have on his FB. (Btw, this tumblr is not mine.)  
> http://unidentified-flying-ginger.tumblr.com/post/132381802489/intelligent-eyes-in-a-hunger-pang-frame-but


End file.
